Neon green knows the owner of a hooker motel, where they lay low, watching HBO, one of them picking up McDonalds and slurpees from 7-11, neon green smoking weed with the dealer next door, while hot pink talks to the working girls—there is one named Trina that likes the Emily Dickinson poetry book that hot pink always carries with her.

One of them, usually hot pink, stays in the room to keep watch over the Gucci luggage at all times.

Hot pink and Trina develop a friendship.

Trina starts coming into their room more and more while neon green is away.

I think I got one of them poems memorized, says Trina.

Let’s see, says hot pink.

We play at Paste —

Till qualified, for Pearl —

Then, drop the Paste —

And deem ourself a fool —

The Shapes — though — oh no I forgot the rest.

Let me see that book again.

They search around the bed. Hot pink looks through the empty drawers. Trina opens the closet and slips a hand into one of the Gucci bags—as hot pink says no don’t—and takes out a stack of dead presidents.

Hot pink swears Trina to secrecy. Trina goes to bed dreaming of running away with hot pink. The next morning they begin whispering of Miami where all things are beautiful.

Two detectives come around asking questions.

Neon green says they need to do one last job before leaving town.

Someone should stay in the getaway car this time, says hot pink, response times will probably be quicker than last time. I can go in alone.